They took their drink, locked arms and tried to go through the narrow doorway, arm in arm. Failing in that, they went out sidewise and fell flat on the sidewalk.
“Thank heaven, they’re out of here!” said the bartender. “They’re the craziest pair of punchers I ever seen, and I’ve seen ’em all. Lie and prove it by each other. Owe me ten dollars apiece, and won’t remember it. Well, I won’t lose an awful lot. I filled up a half-empty bar-bottle with water, and they’ve drank it all; so I only lose fifty per-cent on ’em.”
But they didn’t find Roaring at the office. Hashknife was there, talking with Wind River Jim, and Horse-Collar looked hin over rather dubiously. Lovely sat down on the floor against the wall and tried to roll a cigaret. Wind River Jim didn’t feel very well.
“We came peacefully,” declared Horse-collar. “Kinda like a fam’ly re-e-union, you shee.”
“You don’t feel so good, do you, Wind River?” asked Lovely, spilling the contents of his tobacco sack over his knees. “I think you’ve got stummick complaint.”
“Ne’ mind my stummick,” growled Wind River.
“Don’ mind his stummick,” advised Horse-Collar Fields owlishly, and then to Hashknife he said—
“Wheresh Roarin’ Rigby?”
“I dunno,” grinned Hashknife.
“Ain’t dead, is he?”